


The New Age

by LonelyIntrovert



Series: The Inheritance Cycle [1]
Category: Eragon - Fandom, Eragon/Arya - Fandom, The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5988118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyIntrovert/pseuds/LonelyIntrovert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The continuance of Christopher Paolini's "Inheritance Cycle" after book four.  Partial to Eragon and Arya's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Age

As the ship went sideways, Eragon clutched the wooden beam to steady himself, the stream of incantations continuously flowing from his lips. The elves around him had joined hands and were channeling a blast of energy into the spell he was creating, one that would make the ship retarded to the swells of the angry ocean around them. Saphira floated almost a mile above them, above the storm clouds. The ship lurched again and a torrent of sea water sloshed from one end of the ship to the other, swirling around their legs. Uttering the last syllable, Eragon gasped as a river of energy cascaded through his body and the ship rose several feet until its motility grew stable and unrelenting. The energy needed subsided somewhat, and Eragon transferred the spell to leak the rest of the energy from Aren. Gazing at the ring, Eragon swallowed as memories flooded back, memories of pain and heartache…

“Thank you for your assistance,” Eragon announced to the elves gathered before him, “you may now return to your posts.” They all bowed in response and then went their separate ways, though few dared venture above decks. The ship continued to creak ominously despite its relief. Eragon yawned, and after surveying the underdecks with tired eyes, he turned around and began to climb a wooden ladder into his chambers. Rolling onto the floor, he flipped the trapdoor closed and just laid there, exhaustion creeping into his bones. They had been at sea for almost three weeks, and it was really wearing him down. He realized that he despised how the ship just kept moving back and forth and how there was nothing but blue water around them. It made him land-sick. The sound of rain pounding on the main door of his chambers caused him to blearily look up and cast a simple spell to strengthen the door and repel the water. The sound grew distant, though it was still there, pecking at Eragon’s sanity.

Eragon forced himself up and he walked a few steps and then launched himself at his bed. Burrowing underneath the covers, Eragon easily cast himself into his waiting dreams, eager to be away from his reality. 

 

Eragon awoke with a spasm of fear clutching his heart. The feeling was becoming more frequent, especially ever since the storm rolled in and separated him from Saphira, who would wake him before the nightmare got especially bad. Shaking the screams from his ears and the vision of a black field full of faceless men wanting to kill him, Eragon sat up and pressed his palms against his face and rubbed his eyes, feeling physically drained even though he just woke up. He was not used to being this alone; alone with the demons of his mind, which hunted him constantly. Blinking through a film of filth and sleep, Eragon frowned when he saw that the sky was still incredibly dark. The rain had stopped, though Eragon could still hear the wind howling past the ship. Checking Aren, Eragon rose and opened the main door to his chambers.

The wind tore at his cheeks, warm yet cold and he observed a handful of elves scaling the masts and repairing damage from the storm. An elf presented himself, in which Eragon asked, “How long was I asleep?”

The elf answered respectively, “We sailed for about five hours without your presence, Shadeslayer. It has ceased raining, but we fear the storm will pick up once more. Saphira has not made an attempt to descend because there is a jet of air directly above us that is too treacherous for her to breech.”

“Thank you,” Eragon said, “You may return to your post.” The elf bowed and disappeared. Two in the morning, Eragon thought to himself, gazing up at the impregnable clouds above him. Scowling in the dimness, Eragon returned to his chambers and ignited a candle, its light illuminating spreadsheets covered with drawings of the coastline. Seating himself, he carefully extracted a quill and inkwell, dabbing the nib in the ink and then touching it to a scrap of parchment and listing off the alphabet from memory. The work allowed him to not think and not dwell on his many worries. 

After around fifteen minutes, Eragon rolled his shoulders and irritably shook off the tiredness that was beginning to fog around him like a haze. That was the state he lived in though; an immediate feeling of alertness, but underneath it was a vast void of exhaustion that was never sated, no matter how much sleep he got, because he knew that he would awake running away from a dream. Shaking off the sluggishness of his fingers, Eragon switched methods and began to write out harmless sentences, such as ‘the bird flew in the clouds’, and ‘the dragon ate the sheep’. And then he switched to rudimentary arithmetic. And then it was dwarven history and ethics. 

After a half an hour of this, Eragon was aroused by a shout from the decks. Coming out of his comatose state, Eragon stood and opened the door, puzzled. At his presence, a voice shouted, “Shadeslayer, starboard! Look starboard!”

Turning in the designated direction, Eragon watched as a group of elves gathered to point and gape at a distant, eerie green light that glowed in the distance. It did not appear to originate from anything; an Eragon went starboard as well, a feeling of awe and trepidation sweeping over him. The light did not appear natural, and despite its strangeness, Eragon felt drawn to it, as if he needed to discover its origin. Without issuing any orders the ship angled towards the light, the elves equally curious and drawn to it. Under any other circumstances, Eragon would have been livid, but a part of him ached at the thought of leaving without seeing the sight close-up.

As the ship neared the light, a quiet hush fell amongst the sailors. Eragon stood straight, craning his neck as the first wisps of light crawled over the deck; eventless. And then a sweet noise rose from the nothingness, a single pure note, soon followed by others that joined together into an eerie melody that surrounded them. The elves sputtered and whispered urgently to one another, but Eragon was not listening to them. The song made him smile and despite the warning in the back of his mind, sheer joy spread throughout his body. He saw his emotion mirrored in the awe-struck elves. The ship was now surrounded by the green light, and shocked Eragon when he chanced a glance at the sea water, which was as calm as a tide-pool. There was a splash of movement, and then three figures rose from the water, their mouths creating the hypnotic melody that was all around them. Three women leaned casually against the side of the ship, their elbows resting on the deck, a sheet of translucent scales starting at their navel and travelling down their bodies. Their hair was full of seaweed and was long enough to cover their breasts. It was the sight of them that set Eragon off.

Deep within his gut, alarm bells rang and Eragon backed away from the edge of the platform, confused with his own reaction. The women were beautiful – but there was something unnatural about them, something sinister with their behavior or how they looked. Eragon yelped in pain and clutched his gedwey ignasia, which burned as if molten fire had been poured on it. Scratching at it, Eragon tripped over a fallen mop and collapsed on the floor, the melody growing stronger and more potent as fear filled him. He could not get away from it, it was too beautiful but it was soon filling his mind and his thoughts were no longer his…

He tried to contact Saphira but his mind could not reach her, and as distant screams echoed in his ears over the song, Eragon tried to focus and set up a defense around his mind so he could think…

"Think of Arya," he thought furiously when all else failed, "Think of Arya…Arya and her beautiful hair, Arya and her slanted, green eyes…the smell of evergreen nettles…"  
Eragon braced himself as the pain came crashing back, though the melody grew stronger.   
Covering his ears Eragon muttered underneath his breath, “Think of Arya, think of Arya, Arya…” Opening his eyes, Eragon’s mouth dropped in a soundless howl of terror and awe, part of him repulsed and the other fascinated.

A creature leaned on the deck inches away from him, in the perfect likeness of the regal elf queen. The only difference was the drenched hair with seaweed and instead of legs, a large fish-tail flapped lazily. For several moments, Eragon could only lay there and stare as the creature’s lips mouthed the song that echoed around him. And then he felt a filling, biting anger.  
“You. Are. Not. Her,” Eragon hissed through clenched teeth at the creature. Covering his eyes, Eragon continued to think furiously, "Think of Arya, Think of Arya, Think of Arya…"  
Eragon’s mind suddenly felt as if it were being extracted from his body and being squeezed through a very small tube. The pressure was extremely painful and he would have screamed if he knew if he still had the ability. As his mind pulled away from his body, the sound of the terrible song and the screaming grew fainter; and then the pain and the song disappeared with a pop and all was still.

Eragon blinked in surprise and squawked as he observed completely different surroundings. He was in a leafy, spacious room, with blood-red sunlight streaming into the room through a large, open window. A raven-haired elf straddled the windowsill, her right leg dangling carelessly out the window was she passively observed the landscape. On the floor, next to her other foot inside the room, lay a small pile of scrolls with various wax seals on them. 

“What are you about, Blagden?” the woman asked without moving her head. 

It was then that Eragon realized that he was sharing a body with another organism, and that it had control of mobility. Eragon explored the body with his mind, and counted two wings and two clawed feet – and as he went to preen himself, saw stark white feathers covering his body.

"I’m Blagden?" Eragon thought incredulously. The most mind-bending thing was when Blagden acknowledged the statement with his mind. Eragon tried to flap his wings experimentally, but the bird refused to move them. Blagden, who did not speak in words, but rather feelings, gave the impression that it was not time yet.

“A ship is to men as a body is to spirits,” the bird squawked without any prompting.

“An interesting yet accurate statement, coming from you,” the elf said, turning to look at him. Despite not having control of the bird’s movement, Eragon’s mental reaction caused the bird’s heart rate to increase dramatically, enough for Blagden to flap his wings irritably several times. 

With a slight frown, Arya extended her arm towards him and Blagden flapped their wings until they were airborne. Grasping to her upraised hand with their claws, Blagden repositioned them unto her shoulder. Blagden looked down, at her lap, and Eragon was surprised to see a tattered and worn piece of parchment laying there. Some edges were torn and some of the lettering was blotched, but Eragon recognized it as the letter he sent her when Firnen had hatched. At their glance, Arya plucked the piece of paper up with a sigh. 

“Is it sad that I miss him so much?” she asked almost to herself, “I never thought I would miss someone so much after my parents died.”

“Does love kill or does love save?” Blagden squawked. 

“What a morbid question,” Arya said simply, folding the piece of parchment several times and stuffing it back into her jerkin. As she shifted, Blagden struggled to stay perched on her shoulder. Eragon tried to make Blagden say something, but the bird refused and threatened to shove Eragon from his mind, in which Eragon countered by indicating he would use the name of names to alter the birds true name to do his bidding. They wordlessly grappled for several moments until Eragon managed to sort through the bird’s rudimentary vocabulary and chose a few select words and presented them to Blagden. 

The bird took a moment to decide if the sentence was agreeable to him, and then squawked, “32 souls lost at sea, at the sight of you, 32 souls saved.”

“What doggerel is this?” Arya asked, running her fingers through their feathers. Then her arm went rigid and she turned towards them, her nose inches from theirs. 

“32 souls lost at sea…” she whispered quietly, her eyes narrowing on them. Then suddenly Eragon felt through his connection with Blagden another mind pressing on theirs. The bird resisted it with remarkable skill, and Eragon was surprised to feel a surge of energy come through the mental contact, suffusing their limbs with heat. 

“What does that mean?” Arya asked in a trembling voice, bribing the bird with energy. Blagden cawed and responded, “At the sight of you, 32 souls lost no more.”

It was then that Arya tried to invade Blagden’s mind, and the bird took off towards the ceiling, and Eragon was being squeezed again, and the last thing he heard was Arya yelling, “Tell me what happened to him, you damn parrot!” 

Eragon’s mind felt as if it were being dropped through an inverted funnel, and his mind was able to expand and stretch, and soon he came to, the smell of the sea invading his nostrils. He was still laying on the ground, but he felt strangely warm, despite being drenched with saltwater and sweat. Energy pulsed through him, and he rolled up into a sitting position, shaking the tinge of vertigo from his limbs. He could still hear the melody, but he found that he could easily block it from his mind. The creature that impersonated Arya had moved away, and as Eragon stood, he gaped at what he saw. The creatures continued their song, but their contours had completely changed. Their teeth were bared and some lunged out to attack an elf. The elves seemed terrified; not because they were under attack, but because something that appeared so beautiful to them became horrible enough to try and kill them. The elves did not want to harm these beautiful creatures. 

Speaking in an undertone, Eragon cast a spell so that the elves would also be impervious to the creatures’ song, and he covered his sensitive ears as a howl of shock came over the elves. Muttering a word, the crew collectively began to use their magic to sweep the creatures from the deck and back into the sea.  
In a matter of gruesome hours, the ship had re-routed and they were back on course.


End file.
